


# 21 cooking/baking

by 221_french_bee



Series: 30 Days OTP Challenge [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff and Crack, M/M, POV John Watson, Sherlock Is A Bit Not Good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-27
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-06-04 04:23:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6641341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221_french_bee/pseuds/221_french_bee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John wake up in a flat full of appetizing aroma of homemade cooking, and a amorous detective eager to please him. But isn't it too good to be true?</p>
            </blockquote>





	# 21 cooking/baking

**Author's Note:**

> Slowly adding texts to my 30 Days OTP Challenge. Short and fluffy for this one.  
> Thanks to Jaz and CommunionNimrod for their beta reading.  
> Kudos and review are always appreciated :)

When John woke up this morning, he could hear loud noises coming from the kitchen. It wasn't unusual at 221b: even when John was still in his old bedroom, Sherlock would regularly make noises loud enough to wake up Mrs. Turner's married ones next door. The detective often worked at night or on in early morning, and had never considered John's sleeping pattern as a reason to be quieter. So, as with every other aspect of Sherlock's habits, John has grown accustomed, and now that he had moved into the downstairs bedroom with Sherlock, he rarely even woke up when another beaker or Erlenmeyer flask exploded during the night.

What was new was the smell. This morning, the usual acrid odor of chemical experiment was replaced by an appetizing aroma of homemade cooking. Instantly suspicious, John got up from the bed and grabbed his tartan dressing gown off a chair before getting to the kitchen.

The detective met him as he entered the room, welcoming him with a profound kiss. John responded to the kiss with a delay, taken aback by this welcomed yet unusually early display of affection. 

“Good morning”, he greeted after standing back. Sherlock was still in his pajamas, but his eyes were fully awake. “I've made breakfast.”

It took a good second for Sherlock’s remark to pass the heavy fog of sleepiness before John could actually acknowledge it.

“You've _what_?”

“Breakfast, John. This is the meal traditionally served in the morning.”

“I know what breakfast is, Sherlock. What I don't understand is how _you_ know how to make it.”

“Cooking is basic chemistry,” replied Sherlock with pedantry.

“Yeah, but you never make 'basic chemistry'. Not without poisoning it, anyway”.

“I made the effort to cook breakfast, do you want it or not?” snapped Sherlock. Pausing, he visibly bit his own tongue, and tried to cool his features. “Please, I've made it for you.”

“Wow. Ok, then,” said John, raising his hand in surrender.

The doctor sat at the kitchen table, surprised to see that the surface was mostly clean from any dubious chemical containers. They had been replaced by an assortment of jars, bowls and plates, two of them already half-full, indicating that Sherlock intended to actually eat with him.

If it weren’t for the pile of dirty dishes in the sink, he wouldn’t have believed that Sherlock had indeed cooked a full and proper English breakfast. In the plates there were already baked beans, hash browns, and some slices of bacon that seemed perfectly cooked and with the right amount of greasy parts. In a side plate was a pile of toast that looked a little bit over grilled, but their toaster had always been a nasty thing.

He was pulled out of his reverie only when Sherlock gently pushed him so he could slide a perfect fried egg and a little half tomato on their plates.

“Gosh, Sherlock, I don't even know what to say,” he babbled honestly.

Sherlock only answered with a warm smile, before putting the frying pan back on the gas stove and sitting down in his chair in front of John.

The doctor took his cutlery in hand, but, still too amazed to proceed, he choose to take another look at the table. His gaze navigated through honey jars, an unopened can of his favorite jam, a pitcher of orange juice, his Royal Army Medical Corps mug of t-

Actually, there was no mug of tea. And no tea either. John's smile had a little halt when he asked lightly:

“Where's the tea?”

Sherlock stayed silent, his smile still bright. Actually, a little bit too bright.

“Sherlock,” John voice was dangerously slow, “Where. Is. The. Tea?”

Sherlock's fake smile felt immediately, replaced by a guarded expression.

“John, stay calm, ok?”

The doctor, in fact, started to freak out. Sherlock's tone was not reassuring him in the slightest.

“I may have made the kettle...” the detective hesitated, “momentarily unusable”.

“Define momentarily.”

“More like permanently,” admitted Sherlock.

“You've broken the kettle?!”

John couldn't believe his ears.

“I haven't broken it, strictly speaking. I was conducting an experiment about the thickness of fluid regarding the boiling temperature, and I may have made a slight miscalculation about the electric resistance... “

“We've agreed on a 'no experiment' rule on the kettle, Sherlock!” John slammed his fist on the table, making the plates clatter. “God! I'm going to strangle you! And I swear I'm going to do it slowly and with great pleasure!”

“I could have replaced it immediately, the manager of a small appliances store owes me a favor, but you always say that it's rude to wake people up in the middle of the night!”

John got up, his finger pointed on Sherlock to emphasize his words.

“Oh, no. No no no, you're not going to put that on me. You’ve broken it, you replace it! Until then, I'm going to Mrs. Hudson’s.”

He turned on his heel, as Sherlock whined like it would change anything.

“But John! I've cooked breakfast!”

John was already at the door, but he turned around to shout to Sherlock.

“There is no point without tea!”

 

The door of the flat slammed at the conclusion of this very English sentence.

 


End file.
